Friday, April 29, 2005

Little things

There are things we see and we forget, little things that fill little spaces in our busy incongruous lives, a brown scented candle, a zen box, a Mozart pencil, a small white paper with a name, a branch close to a bedroom window, a bird's song, a face... Little things that make home feel like home when we're lost, that smell of serenity and calm, that breathe on us to revive our slowly dying souls, little things that make us go through the week, even when we're having the worst week of our entire life.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

The Syrians are Out

The syrians are physically out. Yes. Yet I feel it is a little too early for cheers and congratulations. Until the Lebanese prove they can stand united for their country, and until the syrians prove to be, not just physically, but politically and ideologically out of the lebanese geopolitical arena, do allow me a healthy degree of skepticism. The past hasn't been gone too long and history is still in the making. If we don't learn from the lessons of the last few decades, if we underestimate the lebanese people's inherent tendency for dissolution and havoc, if we dismiss the Syrian government's grip on the workings of the lebanese political game, even from a distance, then we have a sure rendez-vous with a bitter bitter fate indeed.

Monday, April 18, 2005

Un Dimanche a Cleveland

Rentre ce matin a Nashville, apres un bref sejour sous le ciel gris fonce de Cleveland que j'ai visite pour la premiere fois.


Des gratte-ciel de beton, de metal, un ghetto, un grand pont et un fleuve.
Une robe toute neuve.

Une eglise maronite au coeur d'un Downtown sombre et desert.
Une doree paupiere.

Le mariage de Lara que je connais a peine et qui ne me connais pas.
La musique de ses pas.

Beaucoup de gens que je n'ai jamais rencontres, d'aimables etrangers, deux ou trois connaissances, et peut-etre un ami.

La femme de ma vie.

Friday, April 15, 2005

Valley of my God

Valley of my God in green,
wearing mist and cloud, hiding in a story, whispering a dream,
bless me, take me as your own,
build me a stairway,
plant me a sunset on your cheek...

Sunday, April 10, 2005

...calmly cruising

... calmly cruising, am I, across bourgeoning fields and forests of the southeast, heading, with faith, towards my uncertainty, and I love you... thick, deep blue, pasted sky, cotton candy clouds, trees of green and yellow and purple, carefully dotted with love, patience, like a Seurat... the wind... the wind, in and out of my hair, like you, a woman, cleaning my face, my soul, like a priest, the sun in my eys, my life, and I miss you like never before...

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Why am I your son

Land of corruption and deceipt,
Land of rotten crops and mephitic waters,
Why am I your son...
I see your alleged children thriving in darkness and in filth..
I see them growing with many ugly colors but no spines, no souls and no tomorrows,
Breathing in and out the same heavy, ill, putrid air,
Smiling in betrayal,
Rolling in the mud of their disgrace
O my land why am I your son...
Won't you reject me before I reject you,
Before I draw the curtain over the last of your shameful stories,
Before I take my sword and sever all the shaking hands that conspire for death and destruction,
Before I sever you,
Land of my fallen angels and forgotten dreams
Won't you turn onto yourself and digest the swarming creatures of hell that torment you,
Won't you open your wrists and let the ill blood pour onto your skin
Won't you purge yourself in fire
Won't you be born again
Won't you let me be born again in your entrails
I need you to let me cry and let the poison out..
I need you to let me dig the earth and plant a revolution..
I need you to let me live..
I need you to let me breathe...

Friday, April 01, 2005

Death Season

Back to some verbal expression..

I don't know what's happening this time of year but everybody seems to be dying. Terri Schiavo, who's story was turned into a politico-medico-ethical extravaganza, died - but, of course, this was no coincidence. Mitch Hedberg, comic genius, also died prematurely at 37. Prince Rainier, Europe's longest lasting ruler, is in a coma with very little chance of recovery. And most importantly, to me at least, the Pope.
I am not catholic, nor am I a religious maniac, knocking on doors, holding hands and touching foreheads. Yet in this old fragile man dressed in his white cloak, I always saw the true meaning of Christianity. The goodness and the purity, the humanity and the holiness, the pain, the love, the righteousness, the fight for every last soul in every last corner of the world. People I know, who have been in his proximity, whose heads were physically touched by his hand, have tried tearfully to describe it, but couldn't. Incredible is what they said. Just incredible.

So anyway, many "important" individuals are dead or dying. Like even the angel of death is drawn to media power, mainly striking where people are sure to gather and cameras are sure to roll.

As if all the death going around was not enough, and to make it even worse on my fragile psyche, yesterday I had a nightmare. I was driving on a mountain road by a cliff in the dark, and I lost control of the car. I saw myself fly off the cliff and crash into the bottom of the valley. I died in my dream in a car accident. The scary part is that the car was falling slowly in the darkness and I knew that I was going to die. Strangely enough, in my dream, I was calm. I remember thinking
"it's time..."

And I might have started praying.
Well, despite my morphean composure, I woke up terrified, though thankful it was just a dream.

What am I trying to say? I am not really sure.. but it seems to me that death in this modern age has become a disease, a sentence almost, not the natural, inevitable end of life.


The word itself carries so much weight and drama that people tend to forget what it actually means. And it ends up overshadowing all the beauty that comes before. Forget death. It's just an end.


Now that's what it's all about.